Language of Music and Butterfly Kisses
by Sylph of Butts
Summary: Sometimes one needs new ways to say 'I love you'.


**Gross tears while writing this. It's just a short fluffy oneshot, but basically Dell is blind and Gumi is mute and they live in a crappy apartment filled with love and books and music. That's all you really need to know for backstory, but gosh, I dearly hope you don't cry like I did. If you're curious, the song Dell sang is Fighting For You, which is Garry's theme from the game Ib, another major feelsfest. Go check it out; the song is stunning and descrives the aspects of Dell and Gumi's relationship that Dell wouldn't dare to voice aloud. **

A slam on the baby grand wakes you from your sleep. It's the kind of cacophony you can feel, not just hear.

Dell's at it again.

You rise from your spot on the bed to pad into the living room. The baby grand piano is without a doubt the most expensive thing in the entire apartment. When one walked in the door, they walked down a long skinny hallway that led to the living room, occupied by two massive ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, an old rug, the threadbare couch, the aforementioned piano, and the tiny side table upon which rests the laptop, where the two of you watch movies. You can't afford a TV.

The kitchen is also in the living room. A tiny kitchenette with oven, stovetop, fridge, microwave, and cabinets rests in the back right corner. Your breakfast set, a table and two chairs that sit on long spindly iron legs, was a gift from your mother. You used to eat breakfast at that table all the time when you were a kid.

From the living room/dining room/kitchen, there's a small door that leads to the bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom contains a bed, Dell's work desk and more bookshelves. Hey, you like to read. The bathroom is equally bare.

The apartment is small yet cozy, so any small noise reverberates. This includes smashing your face into the piano keys. That thing is your baby, and as any musician knows, if you mess with the instrument you mess with the owner. You stride into the living room to find out what's up.

You don't expect to find your boyfriend there, crying his eyes out with his forehead resting on the piano.

He hears your approach and looks up. Dell's been blind for six months now, and you know he hates it. He can't read, can't look at art (not that he was much of an art enthusiast anyway), and he can't even smoke. Since the accident and the surgery the doctor forbid Dell from cigarettes, which leaves Dell in a permanent state of stress.

At least he can still work. Barely.

You approach the blind soul and lay a hand on his shoulder. His shoulder blade is sharp like a hatchet. You wonder if he's been eating.

"W-Who's there...?" He's trembling with fear and it breaks your heart. You wish you could at least reassure him that it was okay, it's only Gumi, you're safe. But you're as mute as he is blind.

So you improvise.

You take hold of his hands and lift them to your face. His palms greedily devour the geography of your visage. His fingers smooth your full eyebrows that you got threaded last week. His palms squish your rounded cheeks that hint at your Asian ancestry. You hear him take in a breath when he reaches your scar. As his fingers run over it, scanning it, you let your bristly lashes flutter like wings against his calloused palm. He rubs his knuckle along your hairline.

"Gumi." More a gasp than a whisper. Fingers slide down your neck, ticklin your throat and caressing your collarbone. "Gumi. I wanted to surprise you."

He chuckles darkly. "I found you a song. Thought I'd learn the notes, play it on the piano and sing it to you, stupid as it sounds. Just... Wanted t' show you I could still do something."

You wince. Of course he wouldn't be able to see the piano keys. It would be entirely guesswork as to where the notes were located. Add that to his current stress without being able to smoke, and it was a miracle his head hadn't gone straight through the piano the first time he'd smashed it.

You nudge his hands away and bend down to sit on his lap. Playing piano for ten years gave you a pretty good sense of pitch. You'd be able to play the song if he sang it for you.

Now.

How would you ask him to do that?

As if on cue, Dell began to play the first few bars of the song, fingers moving clumsily. His pinky skipped the fourth note and he missed the seventh entirely. He grits his teeth to keep from screaming.

You reach out and touch Dell's throat. Somehow he understands and begins to hum the first few notes of the song. His voice cracks at first, but he continues and soon enough you have the melody stuck in your head.

It takes a few tries, but you manage to play the first line of the song. The melody is haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful. Once you have the notes down you gently guide his fingers to the keys. He rests his head against your back as you 'play' the song for him, pressing down his fingers on the correct notes slowly. After repeating this several times, he has the notes down. Dell's a good learner; you barely contain a smile of triumph.

"Gumi. I want to play it for real. And sing at the same time," he says almost shyly. He slowly but surely starts to play the song. His long curled fingers remind you of spiders, lumbering along the keys. Ah, well; you'll teach him proper hand position another day.

Soon his voice jumps in.

"Now that you've found me, my whole world is brighter. Now that you've touched me, my steps are much lighter." Dell's voice is so deep and scratchy; that's a smoker, for you. But it's so comforting. Even if the sappy song choice is totally out of character, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever heard.

You close your eyes and immerse yourself in the raspy tones and how they define the lyrics. This is music. This is the true communication between you that he can't see and you can't describe for him. A tear traces its way down your cheek.

His heart hammers against your ribs as he whispers, "That's all of the song I know. Did I suck?"

You let out a high, breathy noise that Dell recognizes as a laugh. He begins to chuckle, too, and guides you off his lap as he stands up. You guide the old blind man to your chambers, tugging on his hands as he closes his eyes. Mr. Honne trusts you completely. You find yourself closing your eyes, too, as you walk to your bed.

He undresses and leaps into bed. You clamber noisily after him. As you turn off the light, he curls up right beside you. You bury his head in his chest, eyelashes fluttering against his collarbone, ear tuned to his heartbeat. You kiss him lightly on the lips. _I love you, _you whisper in the language of music and gentle touches and comfortable silences and butterfly kisses, the kind that doesn't need your wrecked eyes or mutilated tongues.

He starts to sing as you both begin to fall asleep. You imagine that his gravelly voice was a lullaby, a lantern to guide you into the dark throes of sleep.

You slip into the arms of Morpheus as he whispers, "Now that you've found me, my whole world is brighter..."


End file.
